Charge Of The Wives Brigade

ON a sunny morning in Kathmandu, hundreds of newly minted entrepreneurs are converging for the annual conference of Tupperware, the $1.2-billion plastic containers multinational. An unusual business conference this. More silk sarees here than neckties, delicate perfumes rather than the aroma of coffee and cigarettes. No brainstorming sessions on strategy, marketing and consumer psychographs. Instead, boisterous spirits, more reminiscent of a high school reunion than a business meet. Uninhibited display of camaraderie and spontaneity.

Managing director Pradeep Mathur arrives on stage to whistles and the deafening sounds of tambourines, damroos and dandiya sticks. He points to the rainbow erected overhead: This is a symbol of hope, colour and a new beginning, he says. Life is full of endless possibilities. Of choices. Make your dreams come true. Follow your Tupperware rainbow and you'll find your dreams. He strikes an instant chord. A group of women on one side of the hall break into a chant: Give me T.... Give me Upper... Give me Ware... What does it spell? Tupperware! A group of cheerleaders on the other side flail their arms. Gold and red pom-poms swing in the air. The frenzy ebbs and flows as more plastic containers are unveiled, superperformers crowned and honoured with mementos, diamond pins, stars and sashes. Every woman here is a heroine in the eyes of her peers and all present.

These moments of glory are redefining the lives of women around the country. Hundreds of thousands of housewives armed with plastic containers, books, cosmetics, household products and cd-roms are loosening the bonds of domesticity and following their little rainbows of unfulfilled dreams, desires and beliefs in search of recognition, self-worth and self-confidence. In the bargain, a huge wave of entrepreneurship is sweeping the social landscape as a new era in relationship marketing dawns, spearheaded by firms like Tupperware, Avon, Amway, DKs Learning, Time-Life Books, Oriflame and Modicare.

Some 11,500 housewives have joined the Tupperware sales force, blasting sales worth Rs 13 crore for it last year. This year well do Rs 29 crore. It's the fastest ever start-up in the history of the company worldwide, declares marketing director Debashish Sarkar. Oriflame, the Swedish cosmetics giant, has some 65,000 footsoldiers who netted sales of Rs 34 crore in the first year of operations in 1996. Of these, 96 per cent are women, reveals CEO Lajinder Singh Bawa. Modicare has some 100,000 distributors, the majority of them women. Their number is growing, every year, at 400 per cent and sales at a whopping 500 per cent. Amway plans to have some 300,000 distributors in the first three years of its operations.

A surprise factor here. These women never went to any B-school or engineering college or trained for any profession. They never dreamt of breaking through glass ceilings or boldly going where no man had gone before. Till some time back they were content to be just housewives, mothers and grandmothers. Their husbands, children and parents-in-law defined the orbit of their existence.

Some had no choice. Others grew up on happily-ever-after romances. There were also some who had held high-powered jobs but torn between family and work pressures, gruelling schedules and the guilt of missing out on the growing years of children, resigned themselves to the confines of a home.

But gradually, the reality ofironing shirts, packing tiffins and balancing the household budget began tograte. "A housewife is like a slave, maybe handsomely paid, but indenturedall the same," says Anju Bhutani, 36, who traded her London bank job fordomestic bliss. "There is just so much of shifting furn i t u re andswabbing of floors you can do, especially when you have done it for 21 years.There is more to life," adds Deepa Budhwar, 43. A recent Ogilvy &Mather survey sums up the sentiments well: the Indian woman, beneath her calm,unru ffled exterior, is "simmering within" with unfulfilled desiresand  rising expectations.

Along come direct selling fims like Tupperware, Oriflame, Avon, Amway, DK’s Learning. Emotional needs meet economic opportunity and a new link is forged among women of all ages across the country.

Hyderabad-based T. Jogamma, 68, is a proud grandmother of six children and a manager with Tupperware today. Grey hair in a bun, kanjeevaram saree neatly pleated, she is a picture of dignified composure sipping her morning coffee. "For 33 years, I slogged, tending every need of my four boys and one girl, while their father, an officer with theGeological Survey of India, went prospecting for mines. My mines were my children. I cut, polished and smoothed their rough edges. Today one is a chartered accountant, another an engineer and all well-settled. Now I want to do something with my life and time." Jogamma began in 1983 with selling National Saving Certificates and L I C policies. "But Tupperware has changed my life. I feel more fulfilled."

Budhwar’s sophisticated good looks make her a perfect ambassador for the $4.8-billion cosmetics giant Avon. For 21 years, Budhwar took on teaching assignments wherever her husband was posted. "I am not a 9-to-5 person. Also, I am painfully shy," she says, explaining why she was content to be a housewife. Today, she has a team of 11 managers with 200 to 300 saleswomen under each. Her monthly income has touched five figures in two years.

The housewives army’s mantra of success: network marketing. The company appoints a group of house-wives as distributors and equips them with a kit containing product samples, brochures and price lists. A short training capsule injects a killer instinct. And thus armed, the soldiers march into the homes of friends and relatives; cold callsare discouraged. The reward: commission ranging from 3 to 25 per cent, depending on sales volume. At the same time, these housewives recruit other housewives on whose sales they earn an income. These new recruits further build a chain of distributors and the network expands. At some stage, the new group breaks off from the mother group like bees to build a honeycomb of its own.

What makes these women a dream sales force? True, few of them understand pricing, manufacturing, distribution logistics and consumer demographics. But they have some unique qualities.

First, as housewives keen to prove their potential, they are intensely involved with their work. "I breathe Time-Life Books. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and I am thinking about my work," says Tanuja Krishnatray, 39. "Please, don’t call these plastic containers; they have the power to change your life," says the 50-year-old Neelam Chibber, of her Tupperware products.

Second, most of these women are also users of the products and so can sell them with greater conviction. "Our products need to be demonstrated. On the shelf, they simply wouldn’t move. They are also better demonstrated by women because they are the users themselves," says Sarkar of Tupperware. Adds S. Laxminarayan, managing director, Time-Life Books: "Women relate to our products better. As young mothers, they’re also users and tend to be more persuasive than pressuring."

Third, these women bring an emotional quality to the process  that lends dynamism to direct selling. "Many of those I’ve recruited are in it because I convinced them that if I can do it, anybody can," says Budhwar. "When you sell cosmetics, you offer a little escapism, a look-good-feel-good hope. Women are better at these things," says Oriflame ’s Bawa. "When a woman is selling to or bringing another into the chain, she brings trust in the process. A woman feels more safe and secure buying from someone like herself," says Sarkar.

Fourth, these women may not be trained professionals,but have their own brand of can- do- ism. "I can walk into the house ofcomplete strangers and convince them that every rupee spent on books is worthhundred times its weight in gold," says Renu Khosla.

And along with the companies, the women also benefit.First and foremost, financial freedom. "Most women may be reluctant to talkabout the money but it’s a prime factor pushing them out of their homes,"says Sarkar. Especially when many manage to clock in five figures in a year ortwo. Says 39- year- old Daisy Malik of Time- Life Books: "In 1995, I earnedRs 2,500 a month as a teacher. I now earn Rs 35,000 to Rs 40,000 a year.""We pay back as much as 28 per cent of what we get as incentives.Considering that Oriflame did Rs 34 crore of business in 1996- 97, that’saround Rs 10 crore paid to distributors. I wouldcall that kind of earning potential very substantial, considering that in mostfamilies it’s a second income," says Bawa.

Second, low entry barrier. Direct selling companies donot stress educational qualifications or experience or any substantialinvestment as a prerequisite for enrolling. Says Veena Jain of Amway: "I amonly a graduate, I don’t speak English fluently. Who would have offered me anyjob?" Yet she’s today among Amway’s top dealers.

Third, flexible hours. Many of the new breed ofbusinesswoman have opted out of the extended- hours workplace. Like Calcutta’sShakuntala Dey, 30, who quit her Rs 3,000- a- month job as a receptionist tolook after her son Srinjoy. Today, she hits the road once a week for a few hourswith the trademark black Oriflame briefcase and earns Rs 1,200 a month."When my baby grows up, I will work more and earn more. Which job will giveme this choice?" she asks. Says Droupadi, 52, from Bangalore: "I don’thave to worry about leave for a holiday or for attending to my guests."

There’s also the sense of working on your own. SaysRashmi Pachnanda, a former computer professional in Australia and now an Amwaydistributor: "In a corporate job, there is always your boss breathing downyour neck. To push ahead, you must be in his good books. Worse, the very act ofyour moving ahead leaves others behind. Result: bad blood and heartburn. InAmway, you move ahead only when you carry others along. That gives unmatchedprofessional and personal satisfaction."

Fourth, recognition. A recent survey carried out byPulse, the consumer insights cell of McCann- Erickson, found that the new- ageIndian woman needs:

The Amways, Tupperwares and Avons are meeting these latent yearnings. Most ofthem recognise their superperformers by taking them on foreign holidays,showering them with jewellery and token rewards. "The most important reasonI am in Tupperware is because of the recognition I get," says SarojiniNath, the distributor for south Mumbai. Adds Tupperware ‘colleague’ AlefiyaZoher: "Instead of wasting my time gossiping, I am happy doing somethingpositive." Asked to recount the highpoint of her career with Time- Life,Rani Sehgal beams: "The most precious moment was when I was felicitated onstage at the annual meet at Khajuraho and my husband was introduced to everyoneas Rani’s husband. So far I was only known as a brigadier’s wife: MrsSehgal."

But many see in the growing army of housewives a potential threat to theirprivacy and solitude. "I am tired of taking countless calls from pushywomen trying to sell me lipsticks, handcreams, gels and bathroom scrubbers.Worse, they pretend to know you because your cousin has given them yourname," says Preeti Garg, an exasperated housewife. "They are deadlycreatures. They scout a victim, stalk him and before anyone can shout for help,they have scored a hit," says Delhi- based Praveen Malhotra.

But the companies have realised the benefit of the housewives’ army. Bypushing products directly to the consumer, they avoid the warehouse- depot-distributor- retailer route and, more important, huge expenses on advertisingand promotions. No infrastructure needs to be put up. Market penetration isfaster and smoother. "You get a dedicated distribution channel with nosubstantial selling or labour costs. These go to distributors as incentives. Youalso get market feedback almost instantaneously," says Samir Modi, managingdirector, Modicare. Best of all, there’s no risk.

Clearly, in the post- reforms wave of economic opportunities, the housewivesseem to be making the best of both worlds, successfully juggling familysentiments with hard- nosed business sense.

With Shameem Akthar, Soutik Biswas and B. R. Srikanth